A Tiny Piece of Something Greater

by Jude Sierra

  * * *

  Reid wakes before Joaquim as the sun is coming up. Unless he’s in a low part of a mood cycle, Reid’s body clock is always set early. Some days he makes himself fall back asleep. It’s always fitful sleep, but the choice is the best part. Here, he’s the one in charge of all of his choices.

  Today he’s grateful for his sleep rhythms, because he’s stark naked and plastered against Joaquim’s overheated body. He eases away so as not to wake Joaquim. The floor is littered with their clothes; he grabs the first shirt he finds and his own underwear and puts them on quickly. Joaquim must have questions now, but, with his body aching deliciously and his skin marked from Joaquim’s fingers and teeth, Reid wants to put that conversation off.

  As silently as possible, Reid pulls clean clothes from his drawers and works his way to the shower, hoping the whole time that Joaquim isn’t the kind of guy who’ll pop into a shower with someone without asking.

  Joaquim is still asleep when Reid comes back to the room. He’s only half covered by the sheet and, in the light, Reid appreciates the time to look. Joaquim’s skin is beautiful, warm brown, smooth and tempting from ankle to shoulder. His ass is perfect, round and tight. Reid wants—wants so badly—but rather than wake Joaquim with touches that might lead elsewhere, he lies next to him and runs fingers through Joaquim’s hair.

  Joaquim wakes slowly, sleepy-eyed, lashes fluttering open and then closed again. He hums and wiggles closer, encouraging Reid’s fingers to keep playing with his hair.

  “Morning,” he says, his voice sleep-scratchy and low.

  “Hey,” Reid whispers. “Wanna go to Sue’s for breakfast?” Sue’s Diner is one of the few places Reid patronizes consistently.

  “Sure. In a minute.” Joaquim’s eyes close again. He wraps an arm around Reid and burrows into him.

  “You’re very sweet half asleep, you know?” Reid says.

  “No, I didn’t. Good to know, though.” Joaquim’s voice is muffled against Reid’s chest. “Another tool in my arsenal.”

  “Arsenal?”

  “Evil plan to bring you down.”

  “Down where?” Reid jokes.

  “No idea. Just want you is all.”

  Reid runs his fingers through Joaquim’s hair again. “Don’t worry. You’ve got me.”

  Joaquim is still sleepy at the diner until he gets coffee into him. “You’re way too awake in the morning,” he informs Reid, as if this is news.

  “Can’t help it. I’m usually an early riser,” Reid says. He scans the menu, even though he always orders the same thing. Reid likes habit. He’s had a hard time establishing structure and schedule since he came to the Keys, but little moments like this, knowing exactly what he wants and knowing he’ll get it, help him.

  “Usually?” Joaquim doesn’t look at the menu “I’m never an early riser unless forced.”

  “It’s not too bad. I get to see a lot of sunrises.”

  Joaquim doesn’t respond, although he does take in Reid’s appearance. It’s not uncomfortable, but Reid is hyperaware that Joaquim is sussing him out. Their waitress comes to take their order, breaking the moment apart.

  Reid’s phone rings while they’re giving their orders. Reid silences it and, after the waitress leaves, checks the caller ID, and rolls his eyes.

  “Do you need to call them back?” Joaquim asks.

  “No, it’s my mom,” Reid says.

  “You gonna call her later?” They have plans to spend the day together, since it’s Joaquim’s day off.

  “No. Well, not today. I’m on a mom break.”

  “Really?” Joaquim tears himself away from the coffee he’s been doctoring very intently. Reid isn’t sure if his tone implies censure, confusion, or genuine curiosity.

  “You get along with your mom, don’t you?” Reid asks.

  “I get along with my whole family.” Joaquim takes a sip of his coffee, shakes his head, and reaches for more creamer. Reid thinks Joaquim might be drinking creamer with some coffee in it, not the other way around. But what does he know? Coffee makes Reid jittery; it makes him feel too much like being in that space between rapid mood swings.

  “I miss them a lot,” Joaquim says. Chin in hand, elbow on the table, Joaquim shares vulnerability so easily. Is this trust a deliberate choice, or has Joaquim never had to guard his secrets? Vulnerability isn’t something Reid does well. It opens the door for people to hurt you or take advantage of you.

  “Do you get to see them?” Reid says.

  “Yeah. Holidays and stuff. In a few months, I’m going home.” Joaquim’s expression draws Reid’s inexorably; it’s reflexive, and Reid has no desire to break the connection.

  They linger over breakfast long enough that the sun is bright and hot when they emerge. In the car, Reid slips on sunglasses; they’re too big and ridiculous but only cost four dollars.

  Joaquim pokes fun when he sees them.

  “I lose my sunglasses a lot.” Reid shrugs. His cheeks heat up. “So I usually don’t care what they look like. They were cheap.”

  “They’re delightful,” Joaquim counters. He opens the window to let out the built-up heat. Comfortable in the moment, they don’t speak; the only noise in the car is the radio.

  “Oh my god, I love this song!” Reid turns the volume up when the B-52s’ “Love Shack” comes on. At the stoplight, he has to laugh, because Joaquim is dancing, arms up, and picks up the lyrics immediately.

  They sing together, and Joaquim knocks on the dashboard at the bridge; they fall into the call and response easily, with none of the self-consciousness Reid would feel with anyone else.

  Watching Joaquim, Reid’s chest tightens. It’s good. He’s easy, unfiltered happiness, unselfconscious joy—things Reid wants badly. Joaquim turns to him and smiles.

  I love you.

  Reid inhales sharply. He yearns for the things Joaquim can bring to his life. Possibilities have hurt Reid so many times, but Joaquim is a bet he’s beginning to think he can place. Reid’s mood mirrors Joaquim’s happiness on the way home and, when they pull up to the gate of The Largos, he almost regrets that the ride is over.

  “Hey, can I get a glass of water?” Joaquim asks as he toes his shoes off at the entrance. As if everything is normal, as if Reid isn’t holding a bright bead of happiness, stringing it with others—beads that have been few and far between until recently.

  “What? Is everything all right?” Joaquim asks when Reid doesn’t respond.

  “Yeah,” Reid says and shakes his head. “Of course. Maybe I’m a little tired.”

  “You’re the one who woke up at the ass-crack of dawn.” Joaquim pokes Reid’s side as he reaches for a glass. He giggles and squirms away. “I can get my own glass, you know.”

  “Hush. Wanna go sit on the porch?” Reid doesn’t have anything planned for the day, but being here with Joaquim is enough.

  “Yeah.” Joaquim takes the glass of water and thanks him with a kiss.

  “I’ll be right out,” Reid says. He lets Joaquim assume he’s going to the bathroom. He needs a moment to gather himself. Reid’s never been in love like this. Am I supposed to tell Joaquim? Wait? He’s a mess, and Joaquim probably has questions; after the Felix fiasco and last night, he has to. And if I’m in love, I should trust Joaquim, right? But if I trust him, would I be asking myself that question?

  Reid makes the bed, then picks up their clothes. He folds Joaquim’s and leaves them in a neat pile at the end of the bed. He straightens anything out of place in the bathroom. He stalls as long as he can with his heart pounding so hard it throbs in his ears.

  Right. Okay. He can be in the moment and he’s going to enjoy this. He’ll enjoy it, but because he really wants to be with Joaquim he’ll have to own up. Asking Joaquim to be in a relationship with him without disclosing his history, his problems, his struggles, would be tantamount to lying. He
’d be asking Joaquim to be with a version of Reid that isn’t real. And then it wouldn’t be real. And Reid so very badly wants real.

  Cradling a sweating glass of water in his palms, Joaquim is curled loosely on the chaise lounge. The ocean view and the silence are mesmerizing. He doesn’t startle when Reid gently takes the glass and sits in the curved open space Joaquim’s body makes. Joaquim’s hair is soft under his fingers. Their skin tones are so different; against Joaquim’s dark hair, Reid’s skin is actually a warmer cream than he’s noticed. Usually Reid bemoans how pale he is; in the past, when he was in the sun, his skin didn’t take on a tan or healthy glow. It tended to burn and then fades to nothing. He hasn’t been in the sun as much as he has this summer since he was a kid.

  “Mmm,” Joaquim says, sleepy contentment nestled into his voice. “That feels nice.”

  “Tired?” Reid asks, his voice low. “You can nap.”

  “No.” Joaquim shifts so that his head is on Reid’s thigh. “I’m always so busy; I feel like the time I get with you is so short and fast. I want to be with you today.”

  “Good, because I want to be with you too.”

  “It’s gonna be hot today,” Joaquim says after a few moments of silence, during which Reid runs his fingers up and down the skin of Joaquim’s arm. Already the air is sticky, and no breeze comes through the screens. “We should go swimming.”

  Reid doesn’t freeze; he doesn’t let his fingers stop their slide. “The air down there is as warm as up here,” he points out, stalling.

  “No, I mean the pool.”

  “You don’t think we’ll scandalize the old people?” Reid cups Joaquim’s bicep, marveling at its solidity and its truth. He’s so real; everything about this boy is real, and he’s opening a door Reid can’t close, a door he doesn’t want to close, but isn’t yet ready to open wide.

  “A little scandal never hurt anyone.”

  “That sounds nice,” Reid says, and, damn, his voice is obviously unsteady.

  “Reid?” Joaquim sits up, almost knocking Reid off the chaise lounge.

  “Um, so,” Reid clears his throat and tries to take a breath because he’s a bit dizzy. “I, um. Fuck.”

  “Okay, you are officially worrying me.” Joaquim puts his hands around Reid’s arms to steady him. Or at least, Reid thinks it’s to steady him. Maybe he’s about to shake sense into him. If only that ever worked.

  “I have some things to tell you.”

  Joaquim regards him. “Bad things? Like, us things?”

  Reid takes a moment to puzzle that out. “What? No. Not at all. I mean maybe bad things, but not about us. Actually, it could be good. Um—” he cuts himself off and shakes his head. This is weird. They don’t fit on the chaise together. It’s pretty old and made of wicker, and he doubts its ability to hold their dual weight. And if he’s going to do this, it has to be somewhere safe.

  “Can we go down?” He gestures toward the beach.

  “Sure,” Joaquim says quietly. Reid collects towels.

  Joaquim follows him down, one hand careful on Reid’s shoulder, and he treasures that connection, because its continuance is an unknown. He wouldn’t blame Joaquim for leaving after this, because Reid is a lot to take. Reid exposed, a package with all of his burdens, is too much.

  They settle on the lonely beach, and Reid sits cross-legged, facing Joaquim.

  “I’m sure you’ve noticed. Well, you had to have last night. About…”

  “You don’t want me to see you?” Joaquim guesses.

  “Yeah,” Reid says. He has no idea where to start. “There’s a whole lot of things that I need to explain. But I want to say up front: I’ve never said them to someone who doesn’t already know me or about my shit. So I can’t promise I’ll make sense. I don’t have a script for this, because I wasn’t planning to tell you right now.”

  “You would have had a script?” Joaquim asks. His hands are on Reid’s knees. Reid puts his hands on them.

  “It’s something we learn to do in the therapy I do,” Reid says. He examines their hands, clasped together. “I do a skills-based therapy called DBT. Dialectical Behavioral Therapy.”

  “That’s… I don’t know what that first one means.”

  “I don’t either,” Reid admits, daring to smile a little. He runs a hand through his hair when the wind tosses it onto his face. His hand is shaking. A lot. “That’s why I call it DBT like everyone else.”

  “Don’t be scared,” Joaquim says quietly. He takes Reid’s hand and impossibly, sweetly, kisses Reid’s cheek. “You brought me down here to tell me you’re in therapy and you’re freaking out about it. Why?”

  “Well, it’s more than just the therapy.”

  “Okay.” Joaquim sits back and waits out Reid’s breathless moment.

  “I’macutter,” Reid says, as fast as he can.

  “You’re what?”

  Reid thinks he started with the wrong bit, but it’s too late now. “I’m a cutter.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Reid’s head whips up. “Have you seriously never heard of this?”

  “No, I mean, I have,” Joaquim says. “I just meant, for you.”

  Reid does not, absolutely does not, let himself cry. The burning in his eyes is so pressing, he squints. He’s unintentionally squeezing Joaquim’s hand hard, too hard. This moment is shaped by Reid’s uncertainty: How do I tell him? How will he react? Who will Joaquim think I am when the telling is done?

  “I want you to know.” Reid’s whole body is shaking. “I wouldn’t tell you this if I wasn’t serious about you. I should have said this first probably. But I—you’re just—I want to be with you.”

  “I want to be with you too,” Joaquim says. He doesn’t stop Reid from squeezing his hands. He doesn’t move away. Concern and confusion pass over his face.

  “Don’t say that,” Reid begs. “Not until you’ve heard me out. I’m not saying that to get promises out of you, because you shouldn’t make them until you really know me.”

  “Reid,” Joaquim says. His voice sounds helpless and small.

  “It means that sometimes I cut myself. Or I did. I mean, I’m in recovery.”

  “Recovery? Isn’t that, like, an addiction thing?”

  “Well, yeah. But self-harm can be an addiction. Or like one.”

  “So you don’t do it anymore?”

  Reid sighs and curses his own weaknesses and failures. “So, the reason I never let you see me is because I cut…” He puts his hand over his ribs, on the right side. “…here.”

  “And there are scars.”

  “Well…”

  “And not just scars,” Joaquim guesses. The sadness in his voice is almost unbearable; because Reid feels it, keenly, for himself. This is the first time Reid has been normal in someone’s eyes, the first time he’s been unmarked by mental illness and the stories and histories that follow him in everyone’s memory and perception. And in this moment, he’s tearing that apart. In this suspension of terrible vulnerability, he’s unmasked and unable to decode Joaquim’s response in either his voice or his demeanor.

  “When you say recovery, then… I don’t get it. I mean, you’re saying that you’ve cut, um, recently?”

  “Well, right now I’m back to counting days. Weeks actually.”

  Joaquim is quiet for a very, very long time. Reid doesn’t try to fill the silence. What could he fill it with? Excuses?

  “Will you tell me more? What does… I haven’t ever known someone who, I—”

  “Take a breath,” Reid advises. Calm comes and then ebbs, washing over him in small bursts. He wills it to come, to wash over him. He always does. Underwater, he’s in a perfect silence, tucked into a perfect calm, and nothing can touch him. He wishes he was there now.

  “It’s not about wanting to kill myself.” That’s definitely a story
for later.

  “But it’s about wanting to hurt yourself?”

  “It’s… the whole thing is hard to articulate.” Reid thinks of Nancy and what she’d advise: that he advocate for himself, draw healthy boundaries, understand his limitations. “Because I really like you. And to me, telling you is making a promise, to let you know all of me. But sharing it all… I am not making ultimatums. But it’s excruciating.”

  “Wanting to hurt yourself?” Joaquim is completely lost. Reid doesn’t blame him. His anxious babbling isn’t helping either of them.

  “Telling you this. What if this is a deal-breaker for you? Because if you don’t want to be with me—”

  “Reid, no—”

  “No, please listen. If you’re unsure or worried, I would rather you take some time to consider whether this is something you can do. Be with me.”

  “I don’t understand; this doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you.” Joaquim looks at Reid, and the urgency in his voice is mirrored in his eyes and the set of his mouth.

  “Joaquim, I have a lot of baggage. I come with a lot. I’ve never had a relationship where I wasn’t someone else’s baggage. I’ve definitely never had a relationship with someone who didn’t already know about my problems. I don’t want you here because you’re beholden, or guilty, or like you have to stay because I’m fucked up.”

  “I don’t,” Joaquim says.

  “Joaquim.” Reid shakes their joined hands a little and tries to smile. “I’ll tell you everything, if you want to know, if you want to be with me. But please don’t make me do it all at once. I realize I’m asking a lot when I’ve just dropped a bomb on you.” He presses a hand to his chest, suddenly conscious of his short, tight breaths. “I’m not sure my heart can take it right now.”

  “Hey,” Joaquim frames Reid’s face in his hands with tender care in his very gentle touch. “Breathe. It’s okay.” He kisses Reid’s lips and whispers their mouths together. “It’s okay. I can wait. I want to wait.”

  “Really?” The burning in his eyes cannot be stemmed; the tears that well up distort everything he sees, and so he closes his eyes. The tears spill over, and Joaquim catches them with his thumbs. The next kiss Joaquim bestows is longer, somehow sweeter. Another brilliant moment, another beautiful bead to add to that string of memories he’ll force himself to keep even in the worst moments—which will come. The shape of his life was predestined by darkness. The darkness always cedes to the light, and he always emerges—thus far, at least. Reid’s journey in the last two years has been in learning to trust and wait for the light, rather than give in to the dark.